


saddle up

by eleadore



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Non AU, Riding, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-24
Updated: 2014-09-24
Packaged: 2018-02-18 15:53:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2354009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eleadore/pseuds/eleadore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry likes to ride and Louis definitely isn't jealous of a mechanical bull.</p>
            </blockquote>





	saddle up

**Author's Note:**

> because [harry really does like to ride](http://eleadored.tumblr.com/post/98239374891/harry-riding-a-mechanical-bull-x-x), and [this isn't news](http://eleadored.tumblr.com/post/98238923966).

Louis is the essence of casual by the time Harry gets back, slouched on the sofa in old, worn trackies and flipping through channels, bare feet propped carelessly up on the coffee table. The tissue he wanked off into ten minutes ago has been kicked underneath the couch and his mobile is tucked away between the cushions, probably still lit up with Niall’s text.

_giddyup hahahahahah x_

Louis didn’t bother replying, and definitely didn’t spend the next two hours alternating between watching the video and the door. If he did pull one off to grainy footage of Harry bucking on a mechanical bull, it was because he was bored out of his mind, unable to sleep and left to his own devices with only his demanding cock for company. It wasn’t very satisfying, as far as wanks go, halfhearted at best, and when the door finally clicks open and Harry stumbles in, Louis’ cock twitches as if to remind him of this. 

He smells like sweat and smoke and other people. Louis ignores his low hello and the arms that drape around his neck until Harry noses in behind his ear and bites his shoulder. 

_“Hi._ You smell good.”

“You don’t,” Louis sniffs. “Go shower.” 

“Mm,” Harry says, digging his teeth in. “Maybe later. Wanna get fucked first.”

It doesn’t jar Louis to hear him say that kind of thing anymore. Harry’s always been shameless about what he wants, and has done far worse than talk dirty to get it, but it took a while for Louis to stop twitching every time he announced he wanted a cock up his arse, sometimes to the room at large. He’s less vocal about other things—prefers falling face first onto Louis’ dick without comment when he wants to blow him and smacking Louis’ face with his own if he wants to be blown—but he’s always made a production out of getting fucked, as loud and bossy as usually only Louis is.

His trackies are loose enough to hide the growing bulge of his dick for now, so Louis shrugs and keeps tapping the remote like it isn’t taking all of his concentration to keep from fidgeting. “Go ahead. But keep the noise down, ‘m watching telly.”

Harry’s silent for a beat before he bites him again. _“Louis.”_

“Shhhhh.”

“Fine,” Harry says, and the heat of his body dissipates abruptly as he backs away. The back of Louis’ neck prickles, but he doesn’t turn to see where he’s gone, eyes fixed stubbornly on the screen. His cock throbs plaintively, always easy where Harry’s concerned, but Louis has had a shit day topped off with a lousy, lonely wank, and Harry wasn’t here to listen to him whinge about any of it, so he can just wait.

Waiting translates to Harry flopping down onto the armchair a minute later, pantsless, because of course it does. 

He lays a towel down first, and Louis rolls his eyes just to give them something to do. He’s going to strain something trying to keep his eyes forward, but the bloody armchair is on the very edge of his vision and the _snick_ of lube is unmistakable. Harry’s thrown both legs over the sides, hips at the edge of the seat, and Louis is watching the telly dammit but he can see his toes curl. 

Louis tells himself he doesn’t care to look. He already knows what Harry looks like when he fingers himself, the exact slump of his back and strain in his arms, the flush crawling down his chest. He likes to drop a hand between his legs from the front, despite the awful angle, and squeeze his balls with one big hand while fucking himself with the other. He starts out slow, just the tips of his fingers sinking in, before he twists his wrist and screws them in hard, right up to the knuckle, relentless. He uses too much lube and gets it everywhere. He makes these sounds—

He’s making them right now. 

“Feels good,” he’s saying, between little hitches of breath. “Haven’t done this in a while. One finger feels fucking—massive. ‘m still really—tight, fuck, but I’d—I’d let you put it in.”

“Could do without the running commentary,” Louis says flatly, curling his hand into a fist to keep from palming himself. Harry moans, low in his throat. “And the sound effects.” 

“‘m sorry,” Harry lies, and Louis knows, he _knows_ the face he’s making, even if he can’t see it: all wide eyes and slow blinks. “Can’t help it,” he sighs, and then there’s the slick slap of lube on skin. If Louis flicks his eyes to the side, just for a second, he can make out Harry’s prick, leaking against his belly, and the blur of shadows underneath where his hand disappears. That fucking video had been half shadow too, but something about the suggestion of it gets Louis harder than anything else. A part of him wants to spread Harry open in the light and look his fill, but another wants him under the covers, in the dead of night, feeling his way around his body until Louis finds his mouth and prick and the tight clutch of his hole, slips his fingers in as if by accident. 

“Want a cock,” Harry says, as though he read his mind, and there’s this whiny edge to his voice that always makes Louis want to put a hand over Harry’s mouth. Around his throat. “Big. More than I can take, I want—I want it to ache. Badly.” His shaky sigh covers Louis’ hiss. “Louis. Want yours. You know it’s the fattest I’ve ever had?”

Louis’ eyes snap to his. “It’s the _only_ —”

Harry’s grin has him cutting himself off. 

Louis grits his teeth because there’s no point in turning away now that Harry’s been reminded of exactly how easy he is, but he doesn’t think he can just _watch._ Not without touching himself, or crawling over to bury his face between Harry’s thighs. Louis refuses to give him the satisfaction, so he keeps his eyes on Harry’s face, but fuck, that’s even worse, because his mouth’s dropped open and the inside is red and wet and inviting and Louis knows how it tastes. He’s turning red, face probably hot to the touch. 

Louis wants to touch. 

“You know what a fucking slag you are,” he says instead, because he can’t help himself. Harry’s grin widens, dimples smug, and he throws his head back. The way his throat bobs on a swallow makes Louis’ cock twitch. “Should get you one of those—those fucking machines, so you could get dicked whenever you wanted. You’d be useless, arse up for it all the time.”

“Or,” Harry says slowly, as though the thought has just occurred to him, “you could let me sit on your cock.”

“Haven’t you done enough riding for one day?” Louis snaps, and he knows it gives him away, but fuck it. Harry has the market cornered on irrational jealousy most of the time; Louis is allowed his moment. Sometimes he just doesn’t want anyone to watch Harry do anything.

“Oh,” Harry says, and bites the corner of his mouth like he’s trying to contain his smile. He mostly fails, and Louis looks away when he eases his fingers out of his arse and trails them up his thigh. “No. There was a line, so I got off. Had to give everyone a turn.” His voice is low, deep enough that Louis feels it somewhere in his belly and has to close his eyes. When he opens them again Harry’s standing in front of him, all soft, bare skin and heat. A blink and he’s climbing onto Louis’ lap, dropping a hand between their bodies to cup his cock through the trackies. “But this,” he says, and squeezes, hard enough to make Louis buck, “this ride’s mine, yeah? Just for me.”

“You—fuck,” Louis starts, but Harry squeezes him again, pinches two fingers just under the crown of his wet, sensitive cockhead, and the words die in his throat. 

“Mine.” Harry snaps the waistband of Louis’ trackies against his skin before yanking them down, until they’re bunched behind his knees and his cock’s bared, stiff and leaking. “Mine,” he sighs, and gives him a slow, rough tug that makes Louis gasp before he shuffles forward and snubs it up against his hole, “and I’m going to ride it—for as long as—I—want.”

He sinks down slow, with little twists of his hips that have Louis clawing at the cushions, trying to keep his hands at his sides. The flush has spread all the way down Harry’s chest and his nipples are tight, begging for Louis’ mouth, but Louis’ attention is caught by the slick drag of him on his cock. Too much lube but just enough friction bare, the squeeze so perfect he can’t not drive his hips up, just a little, just for a second. 

“Fuck,” Harry gasps, “it hurts,” like it’s best the thing he’s ever felt, and drops his entire weight onto Louis’ lap, fucks down on his cock so he’s seated properly, trembling, swearing. His hands are clutching the back of the couch, then Louis’ shoulders, rucking up his shirt so he can get underneath, skin on skin, and he drag his nails down Louis’ chest until Louis rocks up into him on instinct. “Please,” he says, so Louis tugs the shirt over his head and draws him in close, until they’re cheek to cheek, and touches him as lavishly as he wants to be touched while he pants into Louis’ ear, still working his hips in little fits and starts, clenching and releasing. 

He sighs when Louis trails his hands up his back, cups his arse and dips his fingers between his cheeks to feel how he stretches around the girth of Louis’ cock. He’s murmuring nonsense into Louis’ ear, because he can’t shut up and because he knows Louis doesn’t like to talk when they’re fucking—that he can’t, can’t even _think_ when it’s this good.

It’s always this good.

“So good,” Harry’s saying, between dropping hot, open-mouthed kisses on his jaw. “Louis. _Louis,_ fuck. You’re so—You’re my best thing. You know that?” And then he’s pulling off, so quickly that Louis’ cock slaps back against his stomach. A short whine leaves him, desperate enough that Harry says, “no, baby,” and presses a sloppy kiss to the corner of Louis' mouth before shoving him back, so he’s lying flat on the couch and Harry’s hovering over him. A few wayward curls have escaped his bun. He sinks back down on Louis’ cock just as Louis goes to brush them out of his eyes. “Nnnhg,” he mumbles into Louis’ skin, “like this, please,” and leans forward until he’s braced with his elbows on either side of him, churning his hips on Louis’ cock, grinding down and squeezing as and when it pleases him. 

He has to hunch a little to bury his face in Louis’ neck but he does it, riding him so hard he’s out of breath, heart pounding like a racehorse’s against Louis’ chest. Louis has one foot planted on the floor and the other on the couch but Harry’s weight pins him down so effectively there’s not much he can do but lie back and take it, flit his hands over Harry’s back and arse and take his hair out of the bun so it spills all over their faces, sweaty and sweet-smelling, soft. Louis gets a grip in it and yanks Harry's head back so he can see his face, his red cheeks and slack mouth, his eyes. _His eyes._

He’s so lost in it it takes him a second to realize Harry’s babbling, saying, “don’t let me come, don’t let me come, _Louis,_ don’t let me come yet—” but once he does Louis releases his hair and grabs him by the little swell of his hips that was made for this, digs his fingers in and holds him in place until his arms are burning. Slows him down. 

“Yeah?” he manages to say, once Harry’s gone back to rocking on him, back and forth, easy. Louis' so hard it feels like the ache has spread all the way to his toes, but he doesn’t want to come just yet. _As long as I want,_ Harry said. Louis wants him to have it. 

“Yes,” Harry says, “yes, yes,” and stretches into it, fucking back on Louis’ cock long and slow, taking him as deep as he can. Louis hasn’t ever entertained the idea of fucking in front of a mirror, doesn’t even like to leave the lights on most of the time, but he wishes now that there was one on the ceiling, so he could watch the way Harry moves, the sinuous curve of his back as he lifts and drops and squirms. 

“I want a kiss,” Harry says against his jaw, like he hasn’t been mouthing at Louis wherever he can reach, rubbing his face all over his scruff and scratching himself up. “Lou. I want—” 

“I heard you,” Louis says, pushing Harry’s hair out of his face with both hands. It takes effort to form words, and his voice doesn’t sound like his own. They’ve neither of them quite got their breath back yet, and Harry’s still moving on his cock, jerking back hard but shallow so it hits all the right spots, twitching like he’s going to come any second. But Louis' arrived at some kind of plateau where he’s fine with this going on for hours, no end in sight. “You want a kiss, or a hand on your cock?” 

“Kiss,” Harry says, without even thinking about it, but his cock flexes like he’s just remembered he’s hard. “Kiss,” he mumbles against Louis’ mouth again anyway, so Louis says, “idiot,” fond and a bit breathless, and gives him both.

It’s wet and sloppy, Louis using the grip in his hair to tilt his head the way he wants, stroking the inside of his mouth with his tongue, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth until it’s blood hot and swollen. There’s lube in their hair, because Harry somehow always gets it _everywhere,_ and Harry’s cock is wet in his palm, slippery from precome.The angle is hell on his wrist but Louis pulls him off the way he likes, has him whining and clenching up on his cock so hard Louis can’t help but fuck into him, with short, rabbity thrusts meant to get him there. 

“You wanna come now,” he gets out between kisses that leave them both gasping, but he means, _I want you to_ , and Harry makes a small noise low in his throat as he spills all over Louis’ fist, jaw clenching while he rides out the worst of it before his mouth goes all slack and pleased. His arse squeezes around Louis’ cock so hard that he can’t do much more than curl his toes and bear it, coming in long, draining pulses that seem to go on forever, until they’re both left a boneless, sweaty mess. 

They’re still kissing, littler ones now, short and staccato, like banter between their mouths. Louis has no intention of stopping, but Harry has that look on his face that means he’s about to say something stupid, so Louis drops his head back and sighs.

“What.”

Harry raises his hands in the air and gives them a weak shake. 

“Whooooo,” he says, still breathless, and then, all dimples: “Let’s go again.”

Louis rolls them straight off the couch to the sound of Harry’s delighted laughter.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm on [tumblr](http://eleadore.tumblr.com) / [twitter](https://twitter.com/eleadore), thanks for reading.


End file.
